


i went to the dance

by segmentcalled



Series: j'ai été au bal [1]
Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Co-workers, Communication, Daddy Kink, Hair-pulling, Hook-Up, M/M, Making Out, Mature Competent Professional Gays, One Night Stands, Praise Kink, Surprise! - Freeform, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 14:24:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20360008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segmentcalled/pseuds/segmentcalled
Summary: Pat doesn’t dance. As a rule. As a way of life. He stays behind the scenes, he doesn’tperform, he doesn’t sing and he doesn’t dance and he doesn’t hook up with men he just met.





	i went to the dance

**Author's Note:**

> _i went to the dance_  
[j'ai été au bal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pOjWOdrIWng), by donald grantham 
> 
> the fact that there are hardly any fics with justin in them as, like, a romantic interest is a criminal crime and i think as a fandom we need to fix this. i'm starting a movement

Pat doesn’t dance. As a rule. As a way of life. He stays behind the scenes, he doesn’t _perform_, he doesn’t sing and he doesn’t dance and he doesn’t hook up with men he just met.

And then this guy caught Pat by the arm and said _dance with me?_ and Pat took one look at him, at his blue-green eyes and great big smile and freckles and flushed-red face and said _yeah, okay_.

Justin, as it turns out, can’t dance any better than Pat can. He makes up for it in sheer enthusiasm, in joy, in the way he laughs and grabs Pat’s hands and puts them where he wants them, gets Pat around the waist and pulls him in close. He’s hot — literally, metaphorically — and he grins up at Pat with sheer unmitigated delight.

The dancing didn’t last that long. It was most likely an excuse to get Pat close, which is pretty flattering, actually. Pat’s not quite sure who kissed who first, but suddenly they were kissing, fervent and feverish and frantic, and then having breathless giggly discussions about where to go and what to do and then off they went into the crisp late-September night.

They stumble together into Pat’s apartment. Justin’s arm is around Pat’s waist, clutching the fabric of his shirt, and as soon as the door falls shut he wheels around and shoves Pat against it. Pat’s still stunned as Justin grabs him by the collar of his shirt and drags him down to kiss him and nearly forgets to kiss back for a half-second, until Justin gives an irritable huff, demanding Pat’s attention.

Justin scoops Pat’s hair into a ponytail, winds it around his hand and doesn’t even pull, just holds him there, keeps Pat leaning down a little so he can shove his tongue in his mouth. Pat wraps his arms around him. He’s a little sweaty, but not unpleasantly — hell, Pat is too — and, god, enthusiastic.

“D’you wanna, uh,” Pat says, between kisses, “maybe, like, take this to the bed?”

“I thought you’d never ask!” Justin says, grinning, and lets go of Pat. “Lead the way, my man.”

He’s just moved into an unimpressive studio apartment — there’s still boxes everywhere, which is a little embarrassing, actually, oops — so the bed is literally in their line of sight, but Justin lets him guide him there anyway, deferring to Pat for the first time all evening. It doesn’t last long. This suits Pat just fine: he’s not bossy, not in bed, he’s whiny and finicky and occasionally-bratty and honestly a bit of a pillow princess, if he truly has his way, if someone’s willing to indulge him. He doesn’t mind being swept up in this whirlwind of a seduction, between Justin’s loud and genuine laughter and his sweet earnest kisses, his confidence and his kind eyes and warm hands.

Justin sits down on the edge of the bed and lets Pat come to him. He’s much shorter than Pat, but Pat still finds himself climbing into Justin’s lap, long gangly legs wrapped around him, Justin’s hands on Pat’s waist, his face tilted up to kiss Pat.

They don’t stay settled like this for long, all told. Justin twists around a little roughly to get Pat on the bed, under him, and then pulls back with a nervous sort of wince — _was that okay?_

Pat, for his part, has always been into someone who can throw him around a bit. He lays there stunned for a moment, grinning like an idiot, and drags Justin in for more kisses. He hopes that gets his point across clear enough.

It seems to, because Justin braces himself over Pat, pushes a hand into his hair and his tongue into his mouth and his hips down against Pat’s. Pat hooks his leg around Justin’s, holding him there, keeping him as close as he can. Justin’s hand moves from Pat’s hair, down the side of his face, his neck, his shoulder, his arm, finds Pat’s hand and — giving him space, time, to change Justin’s course — pushes it down by the wrist into the mattress.

There is little else that riles Pat up like this, like getting pressed down into a bed with some modicum of force behind it, and Justin is gorgeous and vibrant and touches Pat like he means it, like he wants this just as much as Pat does. It’s intoxicating. He wants him so fucking _bad_.

“Hey,” Pat says, between kisses, “hey, what if we took some clothes off.”

Justin laughs, delighted. His face scrunches up when he laughs. It is extremely and unfairly adorable. “I’m into that, if you are.”

“Very, very much,” Pat says, and kisses him for emphasis. Justin leans over him, presses his lips to Pat’s neck, starts unbuttoning Pat’s shirt. Pat closes his eyes and sighs and lets his head fall back, lets Justin touch him as he pleases. As soon as Pat’s shirt is open he runs his hands over Pat’s torso, pinches Pat’s nipples in tandem to make Pat squeak in pleasure-pain, and once he’s found that gets a response he applies his mouth in kind as well.

“Are you — can I — _nnh_, Justin, are you going to also take your clothes off or are you gonna fuck me like this ‘cause like I respect your life choices but I also really would like to see y —”

Pat cuts himself off when Justin sits back to pull off his shirt, having apparently needed encouragement but not too much of it. He grins and puts his hands on Justin’s waist.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Pat says, and Justin’s face is already flushed but he ducks his head a little, smiling, pleased. “How d’you want me? I’m game for pretty much whatever you are, I bet.”

“I’d love to fuck you,” Justin says, “if that’s something you’re cool with.”

“_Hell_ yes,” Pat says, and Justin laughs.

There’s some quick discussions and rummaging around and then Justin has Pat on his back, leaning over him as he works him open, slow and steady; he presses openmouthed kisses to Pat’s throat, his chest, down his torso to his inner thighs, until Pat is making pathetic desperate wanting noises, just shy of outright begging. Justin gets Pat to turn over, gets him spread out under him, as he deals with condoms and lube and whatever else. Pat, for his part, is so focused on trying to not grind his dick into the bedsheets that he startles when Justin lays hands on him.

“Whoa, dude, you okay?” Justin says.

“Yeah — yeah, you’re good, don’t worry ‘bout it, promise,” Pat says.

“Okay,” Justin says, a little doubtful.

“For _real_ I was just thinking so hard about trying to not rut against the bed like a horny teenager that I forgot that I was about to be touched, please don’t worry, _please_ fuck me?”

Justin gives a soft laugh. “Alright, baby,” he says, and runs his hands down Pat’s back to grab him by his hips. “Fuck, you’re pretty,” he mumbles, pressing his thumbs down the curve of Pat’s ass, moves his hands apart to spread him open. Pat groans; the sound hitches into something breathier, more of a whine, when the head of Justin’s cock presses against him. “You want it real bad, huh?” His tone is fond, a little amused but not disparaging.

“Yeah, _yes_, c’mon,” Pat pants, and Justin readily obliges him. The slow slide of his cock into him is so desperately welcome; Pat pushes his forehead into the mattress and winds his hands into his own hair and tries to rock up to meet him, but Justin puts an open palm on the small of his back and holds him still.

“Breathe, baby, I got you,” Justin says, kneading at his lower back. “Gonna feel so good.”

_It already does_, Pat would say, if he didn’t know it would come out in that whiny-needy voice of his, but _fuck_, he doesn’t do this, he doesn’t take men home, hasn’t had anyone to do this with in, god, in too long, and when he’s — _good Lord_ — when he’s fully inside Pat he leans down to press kisses to his shoulders, the back of his neck, holds still otherwise for a long moment to let Pat get used to the feel of him. It’s good, it’s too good, already it’s too good and that’s almost embarrassing, but he’s new here and he doesn’t know anyone and he hasn’t had a boyfriend since back in Maine and at least two apartments ago and he doesn’t know when the last time someone so much as hugged him was and, and —

“Fuck, _please_,” Pat says, in the exact whiny-needy voice he was trying to avoid, “_please_ move dear god,” and Justin laughs and rocks his hips experimentally and wrenches a moan from Pat. He stops himself just short of babbling out _thankyouthankyou_, Jesus Christ, is this just going to be what his life is like now, wanting to _thank_ people for touching him?

“God, you feel incredible,” Justin says softly, “so fucking good.” Pat draws a shuddery sort of inhale, and Justin gives a soft hum. “You like that? Like hearing how good you are?”

“Please,” Pat gasps, because that’s apparently the only word in his vocabulary right now.

“You beg real pretty, babe, I love to hear it,” Justin says. “You like your hair pulled?” Pat wonders how the fuck he read his mind, and then realizes he’s basically doing it to his own damn self.

“M_hmm_.”

“Move your hands, baby, there you go.” Justin gets a handful of Pat’s hair at the nape of his neck and tugs, not gently, and Pat whines and tries to push up against him, to get closer to him somehow, in whatever way he possibly can. “Wow, damn, okay. God, you’re gorgeous. Let me —” He interrupts himself to move, to haul Pat up closer to him by the hips and finally, fucking finally, thrust into him in earnest, to take him hard and fast enough to shift Pat’s body on the bed, to drive grunts of effort out of both of them.

Pat wants more than anything in the world to get his hands on Justin but he can’t, he’s facedown on the bed and can’t hold him, but Justin is holding him, for sure for _sure_, a hand tight on his hip and the other tight in his hair, and that’s quite nearly enough for him, even as his hands search for something to hold onto, it’s okay, it really is okay, because Justin’s got him, and that’s all he wants in the entire fucking world right now.

There’s a point that comes where he stops being able to tell whether the moisture on his face is tears or sweat, but his breath doesn’t catch on sobs so that’s good enough for him, and Justin keeps touching him everywhere, leans down to kiss him, runs his hands over his torso, teases his nipples, and when he trails featherlight fingers over Pat’s cock at the exact same time as he gets right at the angle to really nail him Pat _wails_.

“Fuck,” Justin hisses, “god, you’re amazing, you take me so well, making such beautiful sounds for me, c’mon, baby, let me hear you.”

“Please,” Pat gasps, his voice gone pitchy, wanting, and yeah he’s certain now that there’s overwhelmed-grateful tears mingling with the sweat on his face, “please, please touch me, I _need_ it, please daddy _please_.”

The moan Justin gives at that seems to come from the base of his chest; he’s panting, now, grabbing at Pat wherever he can, draping himself over him to suck fierce bruises into his shoulder.

“Yeah, baby, fuck, you’re so good, so good for daddy,” Justin says, voice soft but rough with arousal as the rhythm of his body turns irregular, as he climbs full-throttle to the edge. He wraps his hand around Pat’s cock and jerks him furiously, dragging more of the begging out of Pat, as Pat grabs at the sheets and sobs out things like _please daddy give it to me god godgodgod please harder I can take it thank you thank you daddy — fuck I’m gonna — daddy can I come please make me come please_ —

He breaks off into wet gasping breaths as he comes. He collapses against the bedsheets, sweaty and choking back tears, as Justin pulls out and moves away and mumbles something about condoms and cleaning up and be right back. Pat’s only alone on the bed for a minute or two but it’s enough, enough time for him to drag his arm over his eyes and try to get his breathing to even out. Shit, goddamn, okay, time to pull himself together. It’s never bad to have a good cry and a good fuck and Pat’s a fan of taking the two together but he doesn’t want to scare Justin so he takes deep, slow breaths until his inhales are less shuddery.

Justin comes back and nudges at Pat to get him to flip over onto his back and he has something cool and damp to clean off Pat’s belly and between his legs and it is so very fucking appreciated but by the time Pat has worked up the words to thank him Justin’s already ducked away again.

“You can, uh,” Pat says, when he reappears, “you can hang around? If you want? I dunno, uh, I dunno if you do cuddles after, but. But I do?”

Justin laughs, at that, and Pat smiles with relief as Justin gets back into the bed with him, pulls Pat into his arms. He’s so warm, and just as sweaty as Pat is, but he can’t even be bothered about being overheated because yes, wow, okay, he just got his brains fucked out and now he’s tucked up against this beautiful man with freckles everywhere and strong arms and a soft belly and a gap-toothed smile. He’s shorter than Pat — that obviously hasn’t changed — but he drapes his thigh over Pat’s and lets Pat bury his face against his chest and presses sweet little kisses to the top of Pat’s head and it makes him feel small in a good way, held safe and close.

They don’t talk about it, but the tender calm gentle way Justin touches him doesn’t let shame curl inside Pat. Pat runs his fingers over Justin’s back, presses his lips against his clavicle, lazy sleepy too-fond gestures for a basically-stranger but Justin doesn’t seem to mind. He’s the Platonic ideal of a cuddle, his arm around Pat’s back and his leg over Pat’s, steady pressure and closeness, and he’s all soft curves, not hard angles like Pat is, and it’s desperately, achingly nice to snuggle against him.

He doesn’t know when it happens, but he falls asleep tangled up with him, warm and soft and comfortable and filled with a sweet sated contentedness that he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

So of course, he wakes up to an empty bed.

* * *

Griffin McElroy is friendly as hell, charming and silly, with a sardonic air and a smile that somehow pings tangentially in Pat’s memory, but he can’t place exactly where from. He shakes Pat’s hand and shakes Simone’s hand — the two of them are sharing a first day, and Pat can already tell they’re going to get along like a house on fire, for better or for worse. He’s nervous as hell; it’s a new job and the chance of a lifetime, of _course_ he’s nervous, as Griffin takes them around introducing them to people whose names he can barely keep track of.

Griffin pushes open the door of an occupied meeting room with the two of them at his heels.

“— new hires, Simone de Rochefort, and Patrick, whose last name I have forgotten —”

“You remembered _de Rochefort_ and not _Gill?”_ Griffin says incredulously, as they walk into the room midsentence.

“He used all his brain cells remembering the hard one,” someone at the table says, and Pat doesn’t even think to look to see who says it, to react, to _anything_, because he knows him, he knows the man who spoke, who forgot his last name, who in the first place never knew it to brace himself but Pat certainly should’ve, this is why you do your fucking research —

He and Justin lock eyes for a heart-stopping second.

Justin unfreezes first, and shifts his gaze to Simone.

“I’m Justin McElroy, editor-at-large,” he says, and shakes her hand, turns to Pat, shakes his hand, and Pat tries his hardest for a smile, he really does, but it’s shaky and he’s shaky and not even a fucking week ago he called the guy who’s like, what, kind of his manager or something now _daddy_ in bed and woke up the next morning alone and he still has bruises from his mouth on his shoulders and what the fuck, what the fuck is his _life_.

Justin turns away and keeps talking and Griffin takes Pat and Simone away for the next thing.

Pat tries not to have a _fucking panic attack_.

Pat’s nearly managed to put it out of his mind in the overwhelm of the first day shenanigans until Justin wanders past at four forty-five and says, “Patrick, can you stop by my office on your way out?”

Pat nods, a jolt of anxiety tightening his chest. Justin disappears again and Simone teases, “Ooooh, you’re in trouble already!”

Pat snorts, thinks fast on his feet. “Betcha anything I wrote ‘Pat’ instead of ‘Patrick’ on a form and I have to go write down four letters.”

Simone laughs — she has a startling and intensely charming laugh — and Pat smiles at her, a little shy.

Justin’s getting his things together when Pat pokes his head into the office.

“Hey,” Pat says, and Justin looks up.

“Hey! I figured we could sorta, uh, walk-‘n-talk, on the way out? You got your stuff?”

“Uh. It’s at my desk,” Pat says, and at Justin’s onwards gesture turns back around to get his things, Justin at his heels. Simone chats at Justin — something about a podcast — as Pat shrugs his jacket on and shoves his miscellany in his backpack and then it’s his turn to follow Justin out of the office.

Justin keeps a very calm, professional air about him as they walk out, asks Pat things like how his day has been so far and small-talks politely about the weather, as if they had just so happened to be going the same direction. It’s not until they’re a block away in the direction of the subway that Justin exhales slowly and looks at Pat, suddenly and obviously nervous.

“I’m worried we might have an ethical dilemma,” Justin says lightly.

“We don’t have to,” Pat says quickly. “I mean. We can. We can forget about it. It was — it was just once. We can be professional. That, there, you were just professional as hell with me. I don’t — I —”

“I’m not going to interfere with your job,” Justin says, quietly, calmly, before Pat can stutter himself into worse anxiety. “I know you’re more than qualified, and you were hired before that happened. That’s not — I’d never. I’m — it’s more that I’m worried that you’ll be uncomfortable reporting to me. I — I dunno, Patrick, I’ve never had this happen before. What do you need from me to make you more comfortable here?”

Pat drags a hand back through his hair. “I — shit, I don’t know. I don’t have a problem with it, I promise. I swear to god I won’t make it weird.”

Justin is quiet for a long moment, long enough that Pat is about to backpedal hard. He’s not even sure what he’d backpedal to, but likely as anything a whole bunch more anxious stuttering. But then Justin sighs deeply. “I’m sorry for ditching you. That was kind of a dick move.”

Pat shrugs. “I didn’t expect more than that, really. Not a judgment on you,” he adds quickly, at the flash of emotion that crosses Justin’s face. “Just — not what the situation called for. Necessarily. I dunno.” This is so awkward that Pat feels like he’s about to burst into flames. To be fair, judging by Justin’s tight nervous expression, he’d bet he feels the same, so at least they’re on an even field in that respect. “I don’t hold it against you, or anything. Like, won’t lie, it’s a little weird that you know all that shit about me before you even knew my last name —” A half-teasing sort of smile. “— but I’m sure we’re not the first two assholes to hook up and find themselves in uncomfortable situations later on.”

“True enough,” Justin says, with a wry smile. His hands are in his pockets, his shoulders tight with tension.

“Is there anything you need from me, to make this easier on you?” Pat asks softly. “No offense, but you seem — well, a little worked up.”

Justin seems to hunch in on himself a little more. “I don’t — shit, Patrick, I don’t want to be another one of those fucking _assholes_ that make this industry nearly uninhabitable half the time, and I really don’t want to step on your toes or make you uncomfortable and I — I don’t know how to go about this and not fuck it up.”

Pat chews on his lip thoughtfully. “Well,” he says, “the way I see it, we’ve got a couple options. One is, hard-reset, mutually agree to forget about it and act like it never happened. Two, acknowledge it and move on like it never happened. Three,” he says, and tilts his head a little, raises his eyebrows, “y’know, responsibly pursuing it, if we were both so inclined. Obviously that’s, uh, of course that’s not — I mean — I’m not saying —”

“I got you, don’t worry,” Justin says, saving Pat from his stammering. “And it’s alright if you — uh — if you _are_ saying. That you might be interested, I mean.” He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “We’d have a lot to talk about first, I think. And we’d have to jump through all the work-related hoops, if we pursued it.” His face is carefully expressionless.

“What would you say,” Pat says slowly, “to maybe getting some dinner and having that conversation?”

Justin smiles with his whole _body_. His eyes scrunch up at the corners and his posture relaxes and he leans just a little bit towards Pat, and says, “I would say, absolutely. I had a nice time with you. I wouldn’t mind, y’know, trying it out, seeing if something works, if you really were okay with that.”

“I mean,” Pat says with a self-effacing grin, “I’d sure say I enjoyed myself. So. I’m certainly open to the prospect.”

Justin barks out a laugh and offers an extended arm to Pat, who steps into his embrace and puts his arm around Justin’s shoulders in return. “Fuck, I forgot how tall you are,” Justin says, squeezing Pat around the waist so they bump hips. “It’s cute, except it’s gonna be a pain if we decide kissing regularly is on the table.”

“I’m sure we’ll make it work,” Pat says, aiming for flirty and probably landing somewhere squarely in nervous-awkward. He doesn’t have much game, but hopefully Justin can forgive that.

“I’ll just make you sit in my lap,” Justin says, his eyes alight with mischief at the callback, and Pat covers his mouth when he laughs in the barest attempt at pretending to be scandalized, even though he can’t fake it at all. “Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t, uh, I’m still pretty new here,” Pat admits sheepishly. “I’m not sure what’s best.”

Justin studies him for a moment and smiles, shakes his head fondly. “Well, Patrick,” he says, “I guess we’re going to have to figure it out together, then.”

“I guess so,” Pat says, and he knows they’re talking about more than just dinner, so he smiles back and adds, “but I think we’ll manage.”

“I sure hope so! I don’t think it’s rocket science,” Justin says, and Pat rolls his eyes and Justin snickers. “C’mon. I’ve got an idea.”

Pat goes willingly, letting Justin lead the way towards where they need to go.

**Author's Note:**

> more! justin!!! content!!!!! because i am gay!!!!!!!
> 
> [also please watch this video of justin and pat being in the same physical space their height difference is wonderful and the 'whose last name i have forgotten' thing that inspired this whole fic and that i borrowed as a line came directly from this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cha2tH3TJRE)
> 
> twitter @segmentcalled you know the drill / comments make the dream work and kudos are always appreciated !! ♥


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